


fear not the ghosts

by endofadream



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Depressed Bucky Barnes, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentions of medication, Sexual Dysfunction, Shy Bucky Barnes, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Steve Rogers, and some fluff, but very briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: “Couldn’t sleep.” Bucky’s voice is thick. When Steve turns he sees, in the dim light, that Bucky’s eyes are shining. His cheeks are damp. His next words are impossibly small: “I, um. I’m havin’ a real bad night, Stevie. Please don’t make me be alone.”





	fear not the ghosts

Dawn hasn't filtered in through the room yet when Steve is woken by a hand shaking his shoulder. Immediately he’s alert, sitting up and breathing hard, trained still from his years of service and even longer years of serving the Avengers. It’s an unshakable habit, this instinct, this fight-or-flight, and he doesn't relax until a small voice says “It’s just me.”

Steve lets his shoulders relax incrementally first, then lets his heart slow. Right. It’s just Bucky, they’re okay. There isn’t a crisis. It’s the middle of the night in their brownstone in D.C. and there are no monsters or aliens to fight. He says, “Buck? Whassa matter?” a little muzzy still as he wipes his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Bucky’s voice is thick. When Steve turns he sees, in the dim light, that Bucky’s eyes are shining. His cheeks are damp. His next words are impossibly small: “I, um. I’m havin’ a real bad night, Stevie. Please don’t make me be alone.”

Growing up, depression was the state of the economy, not the state of someone’s mind. It’s been difficult adjusting to that, to the fact that shell-shock is just an inaccurate term for PTSD, that people’s brains can be imbalanced. Steve knows that he hasn't been unaffected by it, thanks to Sam’s gentle urging that Steve’s nightmares and lethargy were not normal, but Bucky. Bucky is another story. Most of the time a bad night for him is a lot more than a few flashbacks.

“Oh, baby,” Steve murmurs, stomach sick to think what it could be now. Bucky looks so small, curled up in the blankets with his shoulders tucked in. Almost like he’s trying to keep the world out. Steve turns and reaches for him, pulling him close and pressing kisses to the top of his head, his temple, his cheek, breathing in his sleep-smell. “Baby. I got you, it’s okay.”

Bucky sniffles, burying his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, both his arms wrapping around Steve’s waist. The metal one is warm but still a little jarring as the fingers and joints whir faintly.

“I just…” Bucky mumbles, pressing closer until he’s nearly on Steve’s lap, the comforter tangled around both their legs. Steve runs his hands up and down the broad span of Bucky’s back, over and over, saying nothing. Waiting. Sometimes it takes awhile for Bucky to sort through his thoughts and give voice to them. Sometimes there aren’t words at all, just Bucky’s trembling body and wet tears.

Bucky takes a low, shuddering breath and says, “I can’t stop thinking about ‘em.” He doesn’t clarify, doesn't need to. “And about—about everything. And I just wanna die, Steve. I don’t deserve to be alive after what I did. Why am I alive when they’re not? I took their lives away. I shouldn’t be able to have this.”

Steve shakes off the stab of fear at the easy way Bucky can wish himself dead. He’s got his boilerplate answers, things like _it’s not your fault_ and _you’ll be okay_ , but Steve hates them almost as much as Bucky does. They’re empty, impersonal. Things that anyone can say. Hell, they’re things the therapists and psychiatrists have encouraged him to say as Bucky adjusts to life after HYDRA. But Steve wouldn't be Steve if he didn't rebel just a little bit. No one knows Bucky Barnes like he does.

“I’m right here,” Steve says, carding his fingers through Bucky’s long hair. “Feel my heart, breathe with me.”

“Used’ta do this to you, when you were small,” Bucky mumbles.

Steve laughs softly. “Yeah, pal. All the time. ‘Specially in the summer when the damn air wasn’t circulating.”

“And especially after…” And here Bucky trails off, words diminishing. Lost in a memory, Steve thinks. Wonders if it’s a good one this time. Bucky’s nose brushes the curve of Steve’s neck, right where he’s especially sensitive, and Steve can’t fight back the shiver, the way his arms tighten around Bucky. Bucky presses closer, trailing his nose up with purpose this time, then down. On the next path up he follows it with the wet point of his tongue, and this time Steve groans. This is familiar. This, it isn't hard to guess what memory Bucky is reliving.

“Stevie,” Bucky says, hot and a little low. He adjusts himself so that he’s straddling Steve’s lap, arms around his neck. “Stevie, I need you. I need you, please.”

Steve slides his hands up into Bucky’s hair, biting his lip as he begins to stir in his briefs at the slow rock of Bucky’s hips. “Honey,” he murmurs, trying to keep his voice level. “Are you— _oh_ —sure?” He’s overly cautious when Bucky dips to a low point, but he would never forgive himself if they did something that Bucky would regret.

Bucky nods. “Yeah. I just. Help me forget, okay?”

He clutches to Steve the way that Steve remembers—with a pang—he used to do to Bucky when the pain and sickness became too much. That desperate grab for human contact, for _anything_.

“I’m gonna make you feel so much better, little angel,” Steve says into Bucky’s hair. He begins to run his hands along Bucky’s sides, curving around his hips before sliding back up. Feeling him up, getting him used to touches that go far beyond casual. “You okay with that, Buck?”

Through a tiny groan, Bucky replies, “Yeah.”

“What do you need?”

A few moments pass in silence, Bucky huffing in frustration as he says, “I don’t—I want— _fuck_ ,” he spits. Steve quiets him with a kiss and a gentle hush. He knows what Bucky wants, but the therapist is having Bucky work on verbalizing them; so far it’s been difficult, and Steve’s always been soft on Bucky anyway. Buck used to say that Steve had the doe eyes, but Steve still swears he’s wrong, ‘cause there’s not a lot Steve won’t do when Bucky looks at him just right.

He thumbs at the waistband of Bucky’s underwear, deciding to give Bucky a pass tonight. He eases the elastic away from Bucky’s skin, feeling the indentations left. “Want me to fuck you, hmm?” he purrs. “Slide my hard cock in you and fill you up ’til you can’t think of nothin’ else?” His hand slides below, palming the curve of Bucky’s ass, then slipping between the warm divide of his cheeks. Bucky’s hips jerk forward at the first press of Steve’s fingers against his hole. Steve hums as he taps it, feels the wrinkled muscle twitch and go lax enough for him to work just the barest tip of his index finger in. He presses his nose to the curve of Bucky’s neck and groans, “Jesus, babe. Got me all ready to blow just from this.”

“Stevie,” Bucky whines, fingers tangled in Steve’s hair to direct him into a slick, lazy kiss, his tongue brushing against Steve’s, teeth sinking into his lower lip. When he rolls his hips forward there’s no answering hardness. Steve kisses Bucky gently back, broad sweeps of his tongue that make Bucky mewl, and gently turns him, rolling Bucky onto his back. Immediately Bucky is tugging Steve down to seal their mouths together when Steve’s hand slides down Bucky’s flat, quivering belly.

Bucky is still soft when Steve eases his fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, and Steve takes a minute to cherish it, stroking his fingers along the silky skin of Bucky’s limp cock, the impossibly soft skin of his sac. This is, arguably, better than reaching in and finding Bucky wet and straining with his balls already drawn up tight.

It’s more intimate this way, being able hear every hitch of Bucky’s breath, every whimper; being able to feel him grow stiff, filling and elongating in his hand. Every involuntary movement, every inevitable bodily reaction. Steve’s always been the type of guy to love foreplay as much as the actual act itself, though Bucky’s impatience usually puts a stop to it pretty quick.

It isn’t an easy task anymore, largely due in part to Bucky’s medicine, but Steve is tenacious and patient. Beneath him Bucky is squirming, inhales catching, eyes squeezed shut on what could be pleasure or pain. Steve moves his hand lower to rub his knuckles over Bucky’s perineum, asking, “You okay, sweet thing?”

Bucky swallows first, throat bobbing as he runs his tongue over his lips. “Yeah,” he replies, a little hoarse, “yeah, I’m good. S'just a lot. It’s okay.”

“You’re sure?”

Bucky’s cheeks are tinged pink; he nods, opening his eyes and looking up at Steve. It nearly takes his breath away, the raw trust there. “I am,” Bucky says, lifting his flesh hand up to stroke down Steve’s cheek. “You know it just takes me awhile. Sometimes.” His flush deepens.

“Hey.” Steve bends, brushing his nose over Bucky’s, hand working over his cock slowly, steadily, trying to coax the blood to flow and pool. “I don’t mind it. You know that. I love it, in fact.”

The laugh Bucky gives in return is hollow. In the dim, distant light of the city illuminating their room Steve can see the angry tinge to Bucky’s cheeks. The tone in the room quickly shifts. “You love that your fella can’t get it up ‘cause he’s on three different kinds of medicine to keep him from killing himself and everyone around him?”

“No,” Steve says firmly, refusing to rise to the bait. “I love my fella ‘cause that’s exactly it: he’s _my_ fella. My boyfriend, my lover." Steve feels his own breath taken away by those words. Wasn't a time too long ago that they were hiding because their type of love was illegal. And giving it a title like that? Forget it. Steve has to swallow back the swell of emotion to continue. "You're my damn partner in and off the field. No one else’s. You think I’m the type of guy to drop the love of his life just ‘cause gettin’ his dick hard ain’t as easy as it used to be?”

Bucky inhales deeply. “Steve—”

“I said the end of the line,” replies Steve, stubbornness an unrepentant fire inside him. He slides his hand out of Bucky’s underwear and rests it on the bed. “And the end of the line certainly ain’t over a little bedroom trouble.”

The fissures in Bucky’s face begin first as little quakes, the faint and mostly harmless brushing of tectonic plates against each other. As Steve twines his hand with Bucky’s right the ground opens up and Bucky is sobbing, pulling Steve down to him and burying his face in the crook of Steve’s neck.

“I got you,” Steve murmurs, smoothing back Bucky’s hair. The tears are warm against Steve's skin but cool quickly. “Shh, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I hate this,” sobs Bucky, wet and muffled. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Steve says, kissing the top of Bucky’s head, clutching onto him tight. “I know you do, Buck. That's why I'm here.”

Bucky doesn’t grab onto Steve with his metal hand. He keeps it down at his side, fingers grabbing a handful of sheets. Slowly, carefully, Steve takes it by the metal wrist, directing it up and under his arm to join Bucky’s flesh hand where it clutches onto his shoulder blade. At first Bucky stiffens, hiccuping; then he relaxes, tugging Steve even closer.

“You’re not gonna hurt me.” Steve props his weight up on one forearm, pulling back enough to wipe at the tears on Bucky’s cheeks with his other hand. “Just hold onto me. Ain’t gonna let you go, not ever again.”

Bucky tugs Steve down and kisses him like the world will end if he doesn’t. It might: Steve doesn’t think he could handle the modern world without Bucky now that he’s back in it.

“Please,” Bucky says, their lips brushing together as he speaks.

“Okay if I take your shorts off?” Steve asks, searching Bucky’s face. It takes a moment, Bucky hesitating and eyes downcast, before he finally nods. He draws his lower lip between his teeth when he lifts his hips for Steve to tug his underwear past the curve of his ass. There’s so much that Steve wants to say. More than the moment has time for, more than he has the words for. Things like how beautiful Bucky looks, nude and reposed in their bed, the sheets a mess underneath him. How it doesn’t matter if he’s hard or not, because that isn’t what Steve is looking at: he’s looking at the shy flush on the tops of Bucky’s cheeks and the flutter of his lashes. How his knees are bent in towards each other, almost like he wants to cover himself but hasn’t. How nothing, not time, not a metal arm, not a body built for murder, could change that moony look in Bucky’s eyes.

“There you are,” Steve murmurs, gently easing Bucky’s legs apart to crawl in between them. “Mother of God, Buck. Every time I think you can’t get any more beautiful.” He starts with his fingertips on Bucky’s ankle, feeling out the strong tendons, the jutting bone. Slides it up, over hard muscle and scratchy-soft hair. Up, up, skin pimpled beneath him, impossibly soft. The sharp curve of a hip, the soft patch of dark, dense pubic hair, wiry coils slipping between Steve’s fingers. Beneath him Bucky sucks in a breath and holds it.

“Relax for me.” The breath is let out in a shuddering gust.Steve twists and reaches into the nightstand for the lube, sliding the hand already on Bucky’s belly to his hip. “Don’t worry about anything. I got you. I’m gonna take care of you.” He finds the switch on the bedside lamp. “Is it okay if I turn on the light?”

Bucky nods. The cap pops on the lube. The light clicks on and suddenly the room is awash in a soft yellow glow. It highlights all the shadows on Bucky’s body, and there are a lot lately, dips between ribs that weren’t there during the war, puckers of scar tissue and marks from things that Steve doesn’t want to think about.

So he studies Bucky, appraising with an artist’s eye. This is a body—a man—he’s sketched countless times over their lives. It shows the mileage, but it’s never changed; that spot on Bucky’s belly never fails to get him shivering, and biting at the apex of his thigh almost always gets him to go off like a rocket if he’s close. Steve’s point is, though they’re older and a lot worse for wear there isn’t much difference between two scrappy Brooklyn boys who joined the war and the two haunted men who live here now.

Nudging Bucky’s legs a little more open, Steve slicks his fingers, then grips Bucky’s chin with his clean hand. “Hey,” says Steve, quiet, feels his breath punched out of him when Bucky’s gray eyes lock on him. They’re like time in a bottle, Steve swears. He clears his throat and says, “You feel uncomfortable, or overwhelmed, you tell me to stop. Got it?” Bucky nods and Steve kisses him, fingers still on Bucky’s chin, thumbing the dimple before pulling back.

Normally Steve would spend time working Bucky up to it, teasing until Bucky is begging and swearing. But Bucky is glass one crack away from shattering, every muscle tensed even as Steve rubs his hole with a slick finger and begins to press in. Against his thigh Bucky’s cock is still limp. His lower lip is caught between his teeth, turning white with the pressure.

“Focus on me,” Steve says, because he knows what Bucky is concentrating on. He slides his finger in to the last knuckle, swivels and curls it, and eases it back out before repeating. Bucky squirms, breathes “ _oh_ ” in a surprised way that reminds Steve of the days before, when they were just two young kids fooling around on a single bed in a crappy apartment.

Bucky looks up. “Steve,” he says, a little strained.

“Just you and me, pal.” Steve slides his finger in, out. In, out. The sucking pull of muscle, the way Bucky quivers every time. Steve is aching in his shorts, the soaked fabric dragging over the swollen head of his cock. “No one but me and my gorgeous fella.”

Breathing out shakily, Bucky drops his head to the pillow and groans, “ _Christ_.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Steve says, covering his index finger with his middle and easing them in. Jesus, Bucky’s tight. He keeps clenching, pushing Steve’s fingers out before dragging them back in. “Second coming of Christ right in front of me. Lookin’ like sin I’d follow to hell and back.”

“Now you’re just—oh, _god_ —runnin’ your dumb trap.” Bucky turns his head and buries his face in the crook of his flesh arm. His breathing is picking up, growing slightly shallower as he adjusts to the stretch, goes soft and yielding around Steve’s fingers. Steve’s gotta squeeze the base of his dick as Bucky’s hips begin to rise instinctively towards the rolling pressure inside him, otherwise he’ll shoot off.

Steve bends and coxes Bucky into a soft, warm kiss. “Didn’t hear you complaining before,” he teases, rubbing his knuckle over Bucky’s perineum and getting a low, wounded whine out of it. “Thought you liked me using my mouth.”

At this Bucky’s dick gives a half-hearted twitch, though it makes no real attempt to rise. Steve counts it as a victory anyway, grinning and pausing to slick up again before sliding in three fingers. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut, and Steve kisses his metal shoulder, murmurs, “Shh, shh, you’re doing great, babydoll. So great.”

“Steve,” says Bucky. Then again, “ _Steve_ ,” like it’s all he knows how to say. He’s looking up with his eyes all wide, all blown-black blue. They’re a little glossy, tears pooling at his waterline; when he blinks one spills down his temple, disappearing into the spread of his brown hair on the pillow.

Steve strokes his fingers over that spot inside and Bucky gasps, back arching up off the bed. Again, his cock twitches but doesn’t begin to chub up. Steve scoots back and rubs his thumb over the stretch of Bucky’s hole, feels how it gives, goes a little looser like it’ll take his thumb in, too.

“You ready, baby?” Steve slides out at Bucky’s nod and startles a little when Bucky sits up enough to grab his wrist.

“Don’t get a rubber,” he quietly says.

Steve swallows hard. They’d only ever done it bare a couple times before and loved it, but didn't love the mess. It’s the first time since Bucky’s been back that he’s asked for it. Suddenly Steve’s throat closes up and he has to take a couple deep breaths before he can say, “I won’t, Buck. Whatever you need, okay?”

Bucky’s eyes are still huge and glossy and trusting as Steve slicks himself up, tugging his shorts off and throwing them somewhere off the side of the bed. Bucky spreads his legs before Steve can ask, tops of his cheeks still flushed as he hides his face in the crook of his flesh arm again.

Steve grips Bucky’s thighs, stroking their soft insides. “If you need me to stop, tell me. Promise?”

A nod.

Steadying his cock with one hand Steve lines up and begins pressing in, feeling gut-punched at the first hint of a squeeze around the head of his cock. Bucky tenses at first, body going rigid, and as Steve’s about to ask he finally relaxes, exhaling softly.

“Oh,” Steve breathes, trembling all over as he watches himself sink into Bucky’s body. “Oh, god, baby. _Baby_ , fuck, look at you. Best goddamn thing I ever laid my eyes on, you know that?” He drops one arm to the bed and urges Bucky to wrap his legs around his hips. Bucky lets out a little noise and does, hands moving to grip at the sheets. He's begun rocking his hips, urging Steve in deeper, and Steve wonders if it’s unconscious or not.

When Steve bottoms out Bucky lets out an actual moan, dragging the sheets in towards his hip. Pressing their foreheads together Steve pants into the humid space between them. “You feel so good, Buck. So fuckin’ good, so tight and hot and wet around me. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. How could you ever think I wouldn’t want you? That I wouldn't want this?” He kisses Bucky deep and ravaging, nipping at his lower lip as Bucky moans again, shuddering. Reaches between them, wraps a palm around Bucky’s cock and feels it twitch again, finally firming up in his grip. “There you go, beautiful. You’re the best goddamn thing to ever happen to me. You’re so gorgeous, baby. Prettiest fella I ever laid my eyes on. Only one I ever wanted.”

“Steve,” Bucky whines, voice thick. His flesh hand finally untangles from the sheets and tangles in Steve’s hair instead. His mouth is open, pink tongue wetting his lips when he pants. Back and forth his eyes dart across Steve's face.

Steve starts moving in slow, shallow thrusts that draw tiny mewling whines from Bucky. He works Bucky’s cock at the same pace though it doesn’t grow much harder, peppers each thrust with gentle encouragement before letting go to prop himself up with both hands. Bucky’s eyes grow wet again, shining in the low lamplight. He doesn’t look away from Steve, keeps their eyes locked when Steve’s thrusts grow harder, faster.

“Focus on me,” breathes Steve, unnecessary. Bodies undulating, the faint creak of springs is the only noise besides their labored breathing. It’s raw, more intimate than any sexual encounter Steve has ever had before. With one hand he cups Bucky’s jaw, sliding it back to thread his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky’s heels on his lower back urge him down until he’s on his elbows and Bucky’s semi-hard cock is rubbing against his stomach. With this angle his thrusts grow deeper, dragging over that spot inside Bucky that still, even now, makes him moan.

“Stevie,” Bucky says, metal arm finally going around the back of Steve’s neck. His body quakes as he begins to cry again, flesh fingers twining more tightly into Steve’s hair.

Steve buries his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck and fucks forward hard once, twice. “I love you,” he groans, biting at the curve of Bucky’s shoulder. “Christ, I love you so fucking much. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He’s close, the warmth building in his belly. Bucky’s clutching at the back of Steve’s neck now, chest shaking with his hitching breaths. Steve struggles back up, kissing the salt from Bucky’s lips. They part just enough to breathe, just enough to remain in their own world. Steve remembers the first time they ever got further than fingers and it felt a lot like this.

Steve thrusts forward, their skin smacking mutedly together, and groans, “I’m gonna come, oh god—”

“On me,” Bucky urges, voice wet. “Come on me.”

Steve pulls out, stripping his cock a handful of times before the liquid heat rushes up, expands, whites him out in a rush of pleasure as he spills over his fingers and onto Bucky’s belly and half-hard cock, his body shaking long after his cock has finished drooling come. As higher thought is still coalescing Bucky pulls him down and kisses at his neck, his shoulders, running palms both metal and skin over Steve’s broad, slick chest.

Before Steve has opened his eyes Bucky says, “I don’t think I can tonight.” When Steve looks down he sees that Bucky’s already flagged. The come wet and slick on it makes it look like he has anyway, and his smile is tight and a little rueful.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve starts, but Bucky shakes his head, rubbing the heel of his flesh palm over his damp eyes.

“I don’t care,” Bucky says. Steve knows that’s mostly a lie.

It's silent for a few moments. Bucky sniffles before saying, “Tonight was the first time in awhile that I really wanted to kill myself." It's blunt and honest and makes Steve feel like he's been kicked in the solar plexus. "Like…just go into the bathroom or something, lock the door and slit my wrist. I tried it once, back before they froze me for the first time. It hurts, but it ain’t the worst hurt I ever experienced.”

A slither of fear and dread crawls up into Steve’s heart, freezing it. Bucky looks down at the come drying on his belly. “And I almost did it again tonight. I laid there for a few hours, debating. Thinking, what do I got to lose? I’m nothing.”

Steve keeps his mouth shut, but it isn't easy. His throat is cramping from the lump wedged deep in there. Bucky goes through cycles, so it isn't anything new. But Steve can’t stop remembering how Bucky was when he first got here, how he’d hurt himself with anything he could get his hands on. The way he’d scream during nightmares or when they pried a knife away from him. They’re experiences that won’t ever go away, no matter how much Steve wants them to.

“And then,” Bucky says, looking up through red-tinged eyes, “I remembered that I had you. That you were sleeping next to me. That you loved me as much as I love you. As soon as you opened your eyes I knew I’d be okay, at least for now. ‘Cause even when we had nothin’—”

“—I had you,” Steve finishes, voice cracking. He’d said the same thing about Bucky once before. Bucky gives him a crooked smile, one of those ones that used to make Steve weak at the knees—and still does, honestly. That smile chases away the ghosts and lines and haunted shadows and makes Bucky look like he stepped straight out of 1944.

“Yeah, Stevie,” says Bucky. “I can’t leave your punk ass behind again because you’ll probably go and try to enlist for another war.”

Steve laughs, a guffaw that surprises him. One tear slides down his face and then he’s pulling Bucky towards him, framing his face and kissing him. They part with a wet noise and breathe together.

Rubbing his nose against Steve’s, Bucky whispers, “I love you. Jesus, I didn’t know a person was capable of loving someone this much.”

“Me too, Buck.” Steve squeezes him tighter. Fast-forwards to morning, when he’ll fix breakfast and Bucky will make coffee. Both only in their underwear, Steve’s heart humming with the simple domesticity of it all, and it’ll happen, Steve will finally ask—

But for now. Now, Steve gets a warm, damp washcloth and wipes down Bucky’s belly. Kisses his cheekbones where the last of the tears remain; then his lips, because Bucky pouts so adorably. Bucky clicks the lamp off and the room falls into semi-darkness that teases the arrival of the sun. They get under the covers again, curled around each other, and Steve’s grateful for Bucky’s warm breath, the steady beat of his heart, the hand dropped low on Steve’s waist. These little reminders that even after everything Bucky is still alive. They're  _both_ still alive.

He doesn’t drift off until long after Bucky’s breath has evened out.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is [here](https://endofadream.tumblr.com) and instagram is [here](https://instagram.com/wintersoldiered), if you’re into that sort of thing! reviews are lovely <3


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